


It's Always For Him

by polyamorous_polytheist



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Avengers Tower, Bucky Barnes Cooks, Bucky Barnes Recovering, Bucky Barnes Remembers, Crossdressing, Established Relationship, Grief/Mourning, Healing, Hurt/Comfort, Implied Sexual Content, Love Letters, M/M, Minor Original Character(s), Miscommunication, Social Media, Twitter, Wanda Maximoff Needs a Hug
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-25
Updated: 2021-02-25
Packaged: 2021-03-15 22:00:07
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,358
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29690544
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/polyamorous_polytheist/pseuds/polyamorous_polytheist
Summary: Steve has never spent more than a few months without Bucky - and even then they were sending letters. Two years without him is agony. When Steve has a chance to get him back, he takes it. Thanks to the serum, Bucky's memories return relatively quickly and Steve can't believe how lucky he got.(Steve's life Pre-Winter Soldier and then he and Bucky's lives between, during, and after Age of Ultron featuring plenty of love, cooking, queer history, Twitter, and Steve pissing off Fox News.)
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes & Sam Wilson, James "Bucky" Barnes & Tony Stark, James "Bucky" Barnes & Wanda Maximoff, James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers, Steve Rogers & Natasha Romanov, Steve Rogers & Sam Wilson, Steve Rogers & Tony Stark
Comments: 8
Kudos: 112





	It's Always For Him

**Author's Note:**

> Hey everyone! I've been wanting to write a stucky story for a while but I never had the right motivation. I finally found said motivation so, here we are. As always, I love constructive criticism so don't be afraid to give it!

**Steve and Bucky**

Existing in the 21st century is easy when Steve isn’t paying attention. If he throws himself into the missions and the volunteering and the clean-ups, he can banish thoughts of what he’d lost to the back of his mind. So, that’s what he does. He keeps his mind and body busy and ignores everything else. Except, now he can’t.

He stares at the sleek ceiling above his head. There aren’t even tiles to count. His mind races. He wants the Howlies. He wants Peggy. He wants _Bucky_. Christ, does he want Bucky. He wants Winifred Barnes and her cooking. He wants a rickety, too small bed where he slept pressed against Bucky’s chest

He sits up and extracts himself from the mess of blankets on the floor. Tony gives him shit for not using the bed, but Steve doesn’t really care. The last time he’d gone to sleep in a bed had been in a hotel somewhere in Europe in the 1940s. It felt wrong, somehow, to sleep in one again.

He stumbles out of his confined room and makes himself some coffee. There are machines that can do it now. The coffee comes in little pods and is pressed into a cup of coffee in under a minute. The machine Tony had bought for Steve sits gathering dust beneath the sink.

It had taken him a few days to remember how to make coffee. Bucky was the only one who drank coffee back when he was small because the caffeine messed with some of Steve’s medications, and it was hard to get anyways. When he shipped out with the Howlies, Gabe had always made the coffee. Nevertheless, he has perfected his boiling technique and going through the process now helps him settle his thoughts.

He sits down at his small kitchen table and curls his hands around the porcelain mug. He leaves the lights off. He’s afraid that if he turns them on, he’ll see something so entirely futuristic that he’ll start crying.

The door to his floor creaks open and for a second, he’s a tiny little thing curled up on a battered couch and Bucky is just getting home from the docks. He even perks up a bit, like he’s expecting a hug and a kiss against his hair like he’d always gotten back then. Of course, it isn’t Bucky. Logically, he knows that. It doesn’t stop his stupid heart from jumping in hope.

Natasha walks into the kitchen; red hair frizzy from the static that clings to her sheets. Her pajamas are light and loose but are clearly easy to fight in. There are probably knifes concealed in the hanging sleeves of her pink robe.

“JARVIS told me you were awake.”

“JARVIS isn’t wrong.”

She pulls out a chair and sits down across from him, “Does caffeine even do anything for you?”

Steve shakes his head, “No. It’s just nostalgic. Reminds me of easier times, I guess.”

Natasha gives him a sympathetic look, “I feel the same about vodka.”

Steve snorts, “Of course you do.”

She raises an eyebrow, “Got something to say?”

He shakes his head, “No. No. Nothing to say.”

“You’ve always got something to say, Rogers.”

“Why are you still up?”

“I could ask you the same.”

“I suppose you could.”

They sit in silence for a moment.

Steve clears his throat, “I miss them so bad it hurts. I think everyone forgets that I saw them less than a month ago.”

Natasha hums and drags a finger against the grainy wood of the table, “You know, you could see someone. I do. Clint does. Tony probably should, but you know how he is.”

Steve huffs, “I don’t think I could. I’m not sure I’m ready. It’s all too fresh. I don’t even know how to talk about it.”

She doesn’t say anything for a long time. They sit in silence for nearly half an hour, just soaking in each other’s presence. She gets up to leave, “When you’re ready, let me know. I’ll find someone for you.”  
Steve says nothing when the door clicks shut behind her. Within fifteen minutes, JARVIS has downloaded a self-help book to his phone. He ignores it and goes back to his nest on the floor. He doesn’t have the energy to help himself.

He’s not sure why, a month or two later, he opens the self-help download. He’s sitting on his couch, trying to remember the exact details of the night Bucky died. It hurts to even think about, but it grounds him in some sick way.

He’s staring blankly at his phone and then the book is open in front of him. It takes a while for his eyes to focus on the words. He doesn’t put the book down until sometime early that morning. He gets up off the couch, tears a page out of the fancy sketchbook Natasha had bought him months ago, and sits down at his table. He doesn’t even bother with coffee.

He draws for three hours straight. He makes sure that Gabe is squatting near the campfire, poking at it with a stick. Morita is sitting next to Dum Dum on a log, laughing at something the other had said. Falsworth and Dernier are arguing animatedly about something or another. Bucky is sitting on the ground, back against a log, smile wide on his handsome face.

The sun is rising when he finally flips the page over. He stares at the blank expanse of off-white parchment and, with a shaky hand, places the pencil at the top. He feels dumb. He writes it out anyway.

_Dear Bucky,_

_You’ll never believe where I am now. Well, you probably would. I’m home in Brooklyn. The year is 2012. They still don’t have flying cars (I knew you were wondering.) They do have aliens though. And Norse gods. Thor reminds me a bit of Dum Dum, actually._

Steve pauses and stares at the words. His hand is shaking, and the letters are ugly and scratchy. His cheeks are damp. He brushes away the tears before they can hit the page. He takes a deep breath and continues.

_Howard managed to get a wife. Unbelievable. His kid, Tony, is pretty neat. Just as smart as his dad. More of an ass though. He’s almost a replica, Buck. It’s insane. Tony built this flying suit of armor. It’s all gold and red and everyone calls him Iron Man. We’re sort of on the same team – the Avengers._

_We all live in his tower. He has a whole tower. It touches the clouds. I could hardly believe that he let me have a whole floor for myself. But anyway, there’s a bunch of us – Me, Tony, Thor, Bruce, Clint, and Natasha._

_I already told you about Tony, so I guess Thor? He’s really big and really blond. He’s an alien, technically, but he’s also a Norse god. It’s confusing. He’s really sweet, but he doesn’t always understand things about Earth. After 70 years on ice, I can relate._

_His brother, Loki, tried to conquer the planet. That’s why the Avengers formed. We had to fight these things called Chitauri. They’re sort of like metal sky whales. It was terrifying; I won’t even lie._

_Then there’s Bruce. He’s super, super smart. He can also turn into a 100-foot-tall green monster called the Hulk. The Hulk is decidedly less smart, but he’s practically indestructible, which comes in handy._

_Clint and Natasha are super spies. Clint’s the second-best sniper I’ve ever met. He uses a_ bow _though which seems impractical. Natasha is a hand-to-hand genius. She’s also insanely good at well, being a spy. She’s sweet too. She gave me this self-help book. That’s actually why I’m writing to you. The book said that writing letters you never send can help._

_I could send this, I guess. It would just never get to you. I wish it would get to you. I can’t wait to talk to you again._

_Till the end of the line_

_Steve_

Steve stares at the letter for a long time, reading and re-reading. It’s short – much shorter than the letters Steve had sent Bucky on the front. It doesn’t really matter though. Bucky will never read it. He folds the paper so that Bucky’s smiling face is looking up at him. Silently, he leans down and presses his lips to the paper. No one has to know. He shoves the letter in a box and tells himself he would forget all about it.

He did not, of course, forget about the letter. It became something of a ritual for Steve. Every time he saw something new, or came home from a mission, or visited Peggy, he’d come home, draw a picture, and write a letter to Bucky.

Most of the time, he leaves the letters coded like they had been when Steve sent letters to the front. A little = more than you can imagine. Till the end of the line = I love you. Talk = kiss/sex. Sometimes though, he just writes what he is really thinking. Sometimes, he writes, “I love you more than anything” all over the page.

It continues like that for over a year. Then, in the middle of 2013, Steve goes back to Brooklyn. He doesn’t know what he’s looking for – at least, he pretends not to know. He visits he and Bucky’s old tenement. It’s been turned into a museum about his life before the war.

It is wildly inaccurate, but Steve carefully walks through the rooms anyway. They have installed a second bed. The plaque says that somehow, he and Bucky had scrounged up the money during the Depression. Steve’s dresses are hung neatly in a glass case with a little plaque that say, _“Steve Rogers was a sentimental man, and kept his mother’s dresses – even though they would have fetched a pretty penny during the Depression.”_

Bucky used to take him out dancing in those dresses. They’d never belonged to Sarah Rogers. Steve wore them so he could hold Bucky’s hand in public. He wore them so Bucky could kiss him on the cheek and call him doll without anyone calling the cops.

He swallows hard and leaves the exhibit. It hardly matters anymore. Even if he put on a fancy dress now, there was no one to take him dancing. No one would mistake him for a woman anymore anyways. He wipes his eyes with the back of his hand and pretends it doesn’t bother him.

He ends up where Mama G’s bar had been. There is nothing there now, just a parking lot. There is no rickety old building seconds away from collapse. Maria isn’t waiting behind the door for the secret knocks and passwords. There is no underground cellar where Mama G’s boyfriend brewed illegal whiskey and spirits.

He crosses the street and sits at the edge of the parking lot. For a minute, it’s the day before Bucky ships out. They’re curled against each other on the barstools. Mama G is behind the bar, a sad look on her face. She hands them her best whiskey. It burns going down. Bucky kisses him until he’s blue in the face. When they’re leaving, Mama G hugs Bucky tight and orders Steve to come back as often as he can. She kisses both their cheeks and warns Bucky to code the letters he sends home.

Now Steve is back, sitting on the ground where Mama G had once beaten a cop to death, and he’s horribly alone. He puts his face in his hands and sobs. He knows what Mama G would say if she saw him now. He can almost hear her: “Steven Grant Rogers. You are better than this. Get off your ass.”

He does. He gets off his ass and walks to the nearest liquor store. He buys the best whiskey he can find and brings it back to the parking lot. He doesn’t care that people are staring when he smashes it against the pavement. He watches the dark liquid seep into the pavement and says a toast to Mama G, wherever she may be.

When he gets home that night, he draws Mama G with her coiled curls and fancy dress and real diamond earrings. He draws her leaning against the bar, whiskey glass in hand, Adam’s apple bobbing slightly. Steve wishes he could jump into the page. He wishes Mama G was there to pull him close and run her rough hands through his hair. He wants to cry into her feather boa and tell her everything. On the back he writes to Bucky:

 _Mama G’s is gone. I don’t know why I thought it would still be there. I don’t know what I would have done if it_ was _still there. They would have definitely changed the knocks and the password since we last went. I bought her a bottle whiskey and broke it for her in the parking lot that’s there now._

_I guess it never really sunk in. I’ve been in the future for over a year and Mama G’s being gone was what finally did it. I want to go home, Buck. I want to curl up against you in our too short bed. I want to dress up and let you take me dancing. I want to go to Mama G’s on the weekends. I would get sick and tiny again if it meant I could go home._

_I actually went home today. They turned our apartment into a museum about my life before the war. Apparently, we scrounged up enough money for two beds during the Depression. Apparently, the dresses in the hatbox in the closet where my ma’s and I never sold them because I was too sentimental. Did you know that?_

_I don’t know how long I can keep doing this without you. This past year has been the longest of my life. I just want to go home. I wish they’d have left me in the ice. I would have died eventually, right? Then I could’ve gone home to you. You’re waiting for me, right? You’re standing at the Pearly Gates in your best suit with a bouquet, right? You’ll sweep me off my feet and kiss me when I die, won’t you? I love you, Bucky. I don’t know if I can do this without you._

He doesn’t sign it. Doesn’t address it to Bucky. He doesn’t need too. Anyone who found this box would know it was for him. It was all for him. Steve sleeps with a gun on his nightstand after that. When Natasha asks, he tells her it’s in case he gets attacked in the night. It isn’t, and they both know it. She doesn’t bring it up again.

His letters get shorter. They go unaddressed and unsigned. Sometimes they’re only a single sentence. Sometimes, they say nothing at all. He doesn’t stop drawing though. “Bucky” gets a new sketch at least every week. Steve knows he should stop. He knows that writing to Bucky is starting to hurt more than help. He doesn’t stop. He _can’t_ stop. Just like always, Bucky is his rock – even when he’s been dead for seventy years.

Eight months later, Fury dies on his floor of the tower. Eight months later, the Winter Soldier’s mask falls off on the bridge. Eight months later, Steve writes his final letter to Bucky.

_I’m coming. I love you so much. I won’t let you fall again._

He doesn’t let Bucky fall again. This time, Bucky lets _him_ fall.

He’s bleeding. Bucky’s metal hand is slick with his blood. His shield is gone. Steve never wants to see it again. Bucky’s hand is raised. His stomach hurts like it did when he got sick. He stares up at Bucky. He isn’t even angry. He’s just _devastated_.

“You’re my mission,” Bucky tells him.

Steve stares into Bucky’s eyes. He’s looked into them so many times. He’s looked into those eyes while he’s laid on his back. He’s looked into those eyes while wearing a frilly white dress. He’s looked into those eyes while they fell from a train. He’s about to die by Bucky’s hand and the only thing he can think is that he’s glad they’ll be the last thing he sees.

“Then finish it, cause I’m with you to the end of the line,” He croaks out.

Bucky stares at him.

“I love you,” Steve breathes. The metal beneath him crumbles and he’s falling. He closes his eyes and savors the memory of Bucky’s lips on his.

>>>

The Asset doesn’t understand why he’s moving. The mission is complete. The mission will die from his wounds in the water. There is no reason for him to jump. He does it anyway. His head hurts, the Asset thinks as he falls towards the water. He needs to be wiped before the memories come back. He needs to be wiped so he can comply. His head hurts.

The Asset drags Captain America – Stevie, he thinks – to shore. His head feels like it’s on fire. It hurts. It hurts a little. Maybe this is what Stevie felt like when he got the serum. Who is Stevie? The Asset’s hands move without permission. Stevie has to breathe. Stevie has to _live_. Who is Stevie? 

The Asset presses his lips against the mission’s. The mission has to breathe. Who is Stevie? He wants Stevie. _Who is Stevie?_ Stevie is breathing. The Asset’s head really _really_ hurts. The Asset applies pressure to Stevie’s wound. Stevie is his mission. Stevie is just _his_.

He presses his forehead against Stevie’s, “Live, punk. You survived every winter and World War II. You have to be able to survive me. _Live,_ Stevie.”

A gun cocks somewhere behind him. He has to shield Steve. The idiot doesn’t have his shield. Where is his shield? Why doesn’t he have it? Did the Asset get rid of it, somehow?

“Alright pal. Move away from the captain. I don’t want to shoot you. Steve’d be pretty pissed if I did. You were his friend. Did you know that?”

The Asset puts his hands behind his head. He isn’t supposed to surrender. He knows too much. He doesn’t know anything. He will, he realizes. If he doesn’t get wiped, he will. His head hurts. It hurts so bad. He shifts back onto his heels. A man appears in his vision. He should be afraid. This man knows Steve. Gabe? No. Gabe has to be dead. Who is Gabe?

The man shoves the gun in his face. The Asset should kill him. The Asset doesn’t put up with this. Bucky does. Bucky will, for Steve. Who is Bucky? Steve called him Bucky. Is he Bucky? That feels right. His head hurts.

“You’re going to stand up.”

The Asset moves fast. He stands. He doesn’t move his hands. He can’t die now. He has to kiss Stevie. He promised that he would before the mission where he fell. His head hurts.

The man looks between the Asset and Steve. He takes a deep breath.

“Christ. I can’t lift him. If I let you pick him up, will you hurt him?”

“No. I never want to hurt him again.” The Asset does not have wants. Why did he say that?

The man gestures with the gun. The Asset squats down and reaches under Steve. One arm under his shoulders, one under his legs. That’s how he used to carry Steve home from Mama G’s, when he was littler. His head is splitting in two, he’s sure of it.

The man directs him from behind, the gun trained on The Asset’s head. The Asset’s world is starting to blur. If he shows weakness, the man will surely shoot him. He does not – cannot – falter. A woman is waiting for them, in a helicopter. Her hair is red, like Dottie’s. He always addressed his letters home “to Dottie” when he was too lovey in them. His steps falter. He nearly falls. He has to get his boy into the helicopter. He has to get him to safety. If they get caught in this position, the cops’ll have them arrested for sodomy.

He’s gentle when he sets Stevie on the makeshift cot. He brushes the blond hair out of his face. He wants to kiss his forehead. He used to do that whenever he could. If he does it now, the man might kill him _and_ Stevie. He’s not going to hurt Steve more than he has.

He leans away from Steve, trying to stand upright. He collapses like the Raggedy Ann his younger sisters had shared. It had been a gift from him and Stevie. The world is going black. His head throbs so hard that he whimpers. He’s shown weakness. They’re going to kill him, he thinks. Then he’s mercifully unconscious.

He wakes up alone. The world is a mess of blurred shapes and too-bright lights. Everything hurts. His head is splitting. He wants Stevie. Steve knew how to be sick. Steve knew what could make it feel better. He rolls onto his side and throws up. He’s shaking all over. He’s so _cold_. Withdrawal, he thinks dumbly. Or maybe he’s dying. That would be okay too, he thinks. The world tilts again and the agony coming from his skull sends him under again.

Bucky doesn’t know how much time passes. He becomes more Bucky than Asset sometime between the fifth and eighth time he wakes up. The only thing that doesn’t change between wakeups is how much he wants Steve. He hopes his isn’t sleep talking. He doesn’t want to get Steve in trouble.

The fifteenth time he wakes up, something is different. He can’t say precisely what’s different. He still feels like death warmed over. He still wants Steve. His head doesn’t hurt. He sits up (that’s new too) and rubs at his head.

He can remember. It’s such a startling realization. He can’t remember everything. There are gaps where he _knows_ something is supposed to be. He can remember very little of the Missions he’d been sent on. It seems he got scrambled enough after each one to effectively wipe them down to small flashes of color and sounds.

He remembers the war with some difficulty. His brain had already been suppressing some of the horrors he’d seen on the fronts. He remembers the Howlies, and Peggy. He hadn’t liked Peggy. She’d liked Steve too much. He rather thinks they would have been friends if he wasn’t so jealous. Battles and operations are too blurred to even be considered memories.

Life before the war, though. That is as clear as a bell. The memories have faded some, sure. He can tell it’s from time, not decades of torture. He remembers Sarah’s funeral. He remembers prying Steve out of fights. He remembers teasing Steve when he was all dressed up as a dame. He remembers nights spent at Mama G’s drinking illegal booze. He remembers the death of his youngest sister. He remembers the pain in his mother’s eyes on the day he shipped out. He remembers all the letters with their codes.

Bucky stands up on wobbly legs. He’s surprised that he’s not restrained, but he accepts the small blessing. He walks the perimeter of his cell. It’s huge and made of glass. He can see people above him, watching him. He gives them a small wave and a wry smile. It was very much so a Steve Rogers thing to do.

It’s only then, that he realizes the arm is gone. There’s no silver sheen of metal. There’s no agony with every step as the metal jars against his nervous system. There’s no red star. There’s no Hydra weaponry attached to his body. He gently presses at the bandages over his stump. It sends a jolt of pain through him, but he doesn’t care. The arm is _gone_.

Once he’s walked the perimeter, he sits down in the middle of the floor. He could go back to the lumpy bed with too many blankets, but he doesn’t want to. He laughs. He can do things that he _wants to._ He knows it probably won’t last. He lays down on his back because he _wants to_. He hums the first song he and Steve danced to because he can _remember it._

He stares up at the people watching him and smiles, wide and true. He’s _safe_. Of course, he’ll never see the sun again. He’ll die in prison on counts of treason. Maybe they’ll even publicly execute him. He doesn’t care. He’ll die away from Hydra and he’ll die with all the memories he’d been denied for so long.

The door at the far end of the cell sides open. It closes so quickly it almost smashes the man that walks in. He understands. They can’t take the risk of him escaping. The man approaches, and Bucky sits up, placing his arm firmly behind his head. A small buzz of joy fills his bones. He is _surrendering_ because he _wants to_.

The man comes closer than Bucky was expecting. He sits down maybe three feet away, “You can put your hand down. You’re already locked up. A surrender doesn’t do much.”

Bucky lowers his arm, “I can see why I thought you were Gabe.”

The man’s eyes widen, “You thought I was _Gabe?_ Like the Howling Commando, Gabe?.”

Bucky nods, “Yeah. I thought at first it was the skin. There weren’t a ton of black men on the front during World War II. Or rather, not any that were allowed near me. Segregation and whatnot. But it’s not. You hold yourself like he does. Bet you make some bitchin coffee.”

The man doesn’t seem to know what to do with that statement, “I can’t tell if that was racist or not.”

Bucky snorts, “Well, I’m sorry if it was.”

“I’m Sam. Sam Wilson. I’ve been following Rogers all over the coast searching for you for the past few months.”

Bucky scratches at the back of his head, “He was always too determined and hard-headed for his own good. He shoulda killed me when he had the chance. He dropped his fucking shield while we were fighting above the river. Because he’s an idiot.”

Sam shakes his head, “Some kid is going to be pretty excited when they find Captain America’s original shield washed up on the beach.”

“Steve,” Bucky blurts, “is he okay? Is there lasting damage? Did I…”

Sam looks at him, “He’s doing alright. He’s going to be fine. He almost pulled his IV out when I told him you were in the Tower.”

Bucky scoffs, “Tell him not to do that.”

Sam rolls his eyes, “I _did_. It didn’t stop him from trying to escape his bed with his bare ass out to try and find you.”

Bucky laughs, “Course he did. Little punk never had any shame.”

“He’s worried about you, and equally overjoyed. I never really realized how sad he was. I’d never known a Steve that didn’t mope. It was strange to suddenly see him have a sparkle in his eye and a smirk on his face.”

Bucky’s face falls, “I guess that’s kinda my fault. Shoulda held on to the train better.”

Sam shakes his head, “When we first realized that the Winter Soldier was you, Steve was a mess. Blamed himself entirely. You have no idea how many times he told me he should have jumped off that train after you. I don’t want to start hearing it from you too. You’re a tragedy, Barnes. But then again, so are the rest of us.”

“Don’t think most of us assassinated presidents,” Bucky says, joylessly.

“What all do you remember?”

Bucky shrugs, “Dunno. I mean, I can remember my life before the war pretty well. Somethings are a bit fuzzy, but I can tell that it’s from age and not …other stuff. I can remember bits and pieces of working with the Howlies. Can remember parts of marching away from Azzano. Parts of various missions. I don’t remember the train at all, but I think I had my brain fried for the first time shortly after I fell, so. While I was under Hydra’s control, I can barely remember anything. I can remember who my missions were – and all of the missions were successful. There are colors sometimes. When I think about assassinating Kennedy, all I can remember is this massive tree.”

Sam nods slowly, “We’re working on getting you a pardon. Or we will be once Steve is back on his feet. It’s insane that you’ve recovered that much.”

“It’s the serum,” Bucky says right away, “If they didn’t wipe me regularly, the serum started to knit my brain back together. The same way it does with skin. They were constantly trying to figure out how to stop the serum from doing it. Their methods evidently didn’t work.”

“I wonder if Steve’s brain can do the same.”

Sam watches the easy-going man before him fall away. Bucky Barnes is glaring at him with full Winter Soldier force. He can hear people in his comm telling him to run.

“I will _kill you_ before I let you do what they did to me to Steve.”

“Oh shit, no. I wasn’t implying that was going to happen. It was just a thought. I’m sorry.”

He watches Bucky’s prickly exterior fall away, “Sorry. It’s just…on long term missions, when I went too long without being wiped, I had nightmares ‘bout Steve being in the chair.”

“The chair?”

“Where they wiped me. And it was never Captain America Steve either. It was always Steve when he was small. He’d scream for me. Beg me to save him, and I never could. When you said that about Steve’s brain…it was all I could think about.”

Sam stands up and brushes off his jeans, “I have to go now. Thank you, for telling me all of that. Is there anything I can bring you when I come back?”

“You’re going to come back after I just told you that I killed presidents?”

Sam shrugs, “I killed innocent people in the Middle East just so this country could get more resources. We’ve all got demons Barnes. At least you didn’t choose to create yours.”

Bucky narrows his eyes and stares Sam down for a moment. Sam stares right back.

“…I like science fiction novels. I stole them out of bookstores on more than one occasion.”

Sam nods, “Science fiction it is, then. I’ll be back in a day or so. There’s a lot to sort out right now. Rebuilding SHIELD and rooting out Hydra sympathizers takes a lot of work. Plus, I have to babysit Steve.”

“Someone’s gotta do it. Thank you. For watching him. He can spiral pretty bad.”

Sam doesn’t know what that meant, but he figures he shouldn’t ask. The man in front of him deserves some peace right now. And some science fiction novels, apparently.

>>>

Steve is drawing when Sam comes back into his room. He’s never slammed a sketchbook closed so fast in his life.

“How is he? Is he okay? Does he…does he remember me?”

“You were the first thing he asked me about, Steve. He told me I reminded him of Gabe because I’m black and “probably make bitchin coffee” and then asked if you were okay.” 

“Oh Christ. Sorry Sam.”

Sam waves it off, “It didn’t bug me. He remembers a lot actually. He said it was mostly stuff before the war. He remembers bits and pieces of his time with the Howling Commandos. Almost nothing from his time under Hydra’s control because of how frequently they “wiped” him.”

“Wiped him?”

“That’s what he called it. That and “scrambling his brain.” I’m guessing he was referring to the electrical shocks Hydra gave him to prevent memory recovery. He knows that the serum is helping with memory recovery.”

Steve sighs and leans back against his pillows, “How long until I can see him?”

Sam rubs a patch of skin behind his ear, “I don’t know, Steve. He needs time to heal and I’m not sure seeing you in pain that _he_ caused would be beneficial.”

Steve exhales, long and slow, “Fine. Can I write to him, at least? Please?”

Sam contemplates for a moment, “Yeah. I’ll bring it to him with some books.”

“Books?”

“I asked him if there was anything I could bring him. He said he used to steal sci-fi novels. Said he loved ‘em. I agreed to bring him some the next time I visit. I’m definitely starting with _The_ _Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy._ Maybe I’ll smuggle him a computer and he can watch Star Wars.”

Steve smiles, “Sounds about right. I always got on his case about the stealing. He’d laugh and shake his head. Then he’d promise to stop. He didn’t stop until he shipped out.”

Sam inhales sharply, “I thought you were the troublemaker back in the day.”

“Oh, I definitely was. Bucky stealing books was tame compared to the shit I did. I’m sure he’d be more than willing to tell you all kinds of embarrassing stories. Hey Sam?”

“Yeah?”

“What are the U.S. laws about committing crimes while brainwashed? Is there any chance they find him innocent? Will he ever see anything outside a prison cell?”

Sam shakes his head, “The goal, dear Steven, is to get him pardoned. Put some pressure on the president. Really play up the war hero thing. We’ll probably release the Winter Soldier Files. Let the public read them; see what Hydra did to him. Beyond that, anyone backed by the Avengers is pretty popular by default.”

“Backed by two Avengers. You don’t exactly count, and I will be called biased immediately. That leaves one credible Avenger to call for his pardon. Considering Natasha’s questionable past, the odds aren’t good.”

Sam raises one eyebrow, “You telling me you’ve talked to the rest of your team? I know for a _fact_ that you didn’t discuss this with Tony, Clint, or Bruce when they visited.”

Steve is silent for a moment, “I can’t ask that of Tony. He killed his _mom_ , Sam.”

Sam glares at him for a minute, “I don’t think it’s up to you to decide if Tony has forgiven him. Write your letter, old man. I’ll come grab it in an hour or two.”

Steve watches Sam’s back disappear and re-opens his sketchbook. Bucky’s grinning face stares up at him. It’s a sketch of him sitting on the tank on the way back from Azzano. He’s filthy and exhausted and beautiful. Steve tears out the sketch and flips it over. He’s written hundreds of letters to Bucky over the past two years. The knowledge that this one will be in the man’s hands brings tears to his eyes.

He starts it the same way he started all his letters during the war.

_Hey Buck_

_Dottie wanted me to tell you that she’s still crazy about you. She misses you every hour of every day. She’s kind of a sap, you know. Won’t stop talking about how handsome you are. I keep having to shoo her off the stoop._

_It’s been a while since I wrote one of these. The people around here would say it’s been seventy years. It’s been closer to three and a half. Not that I’ve been keeping track, of course. I can’t even remember how I used to do this every week when you were on the front and I was still just some kid with bad lungs from Brooklyn._

_I’ve missed you so much. Every day, I wished you (and the rest of the Howlies) were here with me. Peggy’s still alive. I visit her every once in a while. She has dementia and doesn’t always know me. It’s hard seeing her all wrinkly and grey. I’m kind of glad I never had to see the Howlies like that. Sides, I don’t thing Dum Dum would’ve aged well at all._

_I think you’re going to love the future. You were always such a technology nerd. There’s so much new stuff. The building we’re in right now – The Avengers Tower – is over 1,000 feet tall. Medicine has advanced so much. If I was still the way I was in the 40s, I think I would be able to survive now. Well, aside from the medical bills. They charge hundreds for medicine folks need to survive. It pisses me off, Buck. My ma would never have become a nurse with these conditions. I just know she’d get caught smuggling drugs._

_I don’t even have the words for everything I want to say to you. I guess I can’t wait to tell you everything face to face. I can’t wait to talk to you again._

_Till the end of the line_

_Steve_

>>>

Bucky is laying on the floor, bare shoulders pressed against it, when Sam comes back. He thinks it’s been a few days. He isn’t really sure. Time has always been an abstract concept for him and living in a constantly illuminated glass jar doesn’t really help. He’s _so fucking bored_. There’s only so many times a guy can workout and swing dance with air. His observers probably think he’s losing it.

He doesn’t bother getting up when he hears the door open. He thinks it’s about time for a meal, anyway. When footsteps start actually approaching him, he rolls over and sits up. Sam’s standing a few feet away, holding a stack of books a mile high. Bucky has never wanted to kiss anyone but Steve, but he’s seriously considering making an exception.

He sets down the stack and hands Bucky an envelope, “It’s from Steve.”

Bucky is reminded of the weeks when he’d receive letters from Steve on the front. He tears open the envelope with the same intensity he did back then. He reads it eight times before he flips it over and sees the sketch. He runs his fingers over his own face. He wonders if Steve kissed this paper before he sent it over. He’d confessed to Bucky the night before the train that he’d kissed all of Bucky’s letters before sending them out during the war. The thought makes Bucky’s heart flutter, and he lays the paper down carefully beside him.

“Thank you, Sam. I don’t know how I can make this up to you. Do you have any paper so I can write him back?”

Sam grabs a notebook off the top of the stack, “Thought you might ask.”

He takes it carefully and flips it open. It’s awkward, trying to write with his right hand. His handwriting looks even worse than it used to. He hopes Steve will be able to decipher the message: _I can’t wait to listen to your stories. I can’t wait to talk to you. Till the end of the line_.

He’s never been as elegant as Steve and he’s not going to struggle through writing an entire letter with his non-dominant hand. It just isn’t happening. He tears out the part of the page he wrote on and hands it to Sam, who tucks it into the pocket of his jeans.

“You can make this up to me by getting through these next few days. There won’t be an interrogation. Hydra kept pretty uh, detailed notes about your missions and what they did to you. It’ll make getting a pardon easier; having everything written out.”

Bucky cringes but nods, “I suppose that’s good. Do I deserve a pardon, though? I’m not innocent. Whether I wanted to or not, I killed those people.”

“You ran three hundred and sixteen missions. About three hundred and fifty people killed. You saved more people in every battle you fought in during World War II. Like I said, Barnes, we’ve all got demons. You were systematically tortured for decades. The U.S. government can give you some slack.”

Bucky shakes his head, “You’re good people, Sam.”

“You too, Barnes. You too. I can’t hang around today. I’ve gotta talk to some higher ups about a possible release date for you. Maybe call in a couple of favors. If I’m lucky, you’ll be sleeping in Steve’s guest bed in under a week. Enjoy your books.”

Bucky grabs the first book on the stack and dives in. It’s heavy in his hands and it’s been _so long_ since he could curl up under a blanket with a book. He flops unceremoniously onto his mattress and buries himself beneath the blanket.

He doesn’t come out for nearly eight hours. Even then, he’s reluctant and only does so because of the rumbling in his stomach. He’s not expecting the person delivering his meal to approach him. He’s not expecting the man to sit down next his bed and hand it to him. He’s not expecting a life-sized replica of Howard Stark. He’s not hungry anymore.

The Stark stares at him for long time. He watches as Bucky seems to sink into himself. He watches as Bucky sniffles. He watches the Winter Soldier cry for the first time since he’d been brought into custody.

“I’m sorry,” Bucky croaks. He swipes at his eyes, but the tears just keep coming, “I didn’t want to. I fought them on that one. I remember the rain and nothing else. I’m so _fucking sorry_. Saying that doesn’t make it right. Doesn’t make it forgivable. I understand if you- “

“You know,” the Stark says, “I always knew it wasn’t an accident. I was a big-headed seventeen-year-old and I imagined what I would do when I finally caught the bastard that did it.”

Bucky swallows thickly, “I’m hear now. I deserve whatever it is you’re going to do.”

Stark laughs, “That’s just it. I don’t want to do any of it, now. I’m sitting here, looking at you and I don’t even see the man that killed them. All I can see is a victim. I was so _mad_ at first. I was furious that I wasn’t angry at you. That I didn’t hate you. I should have. I wanted to.”

“And yet, I grew up hearing about the good captain and his right-hand man. I grew up at Peggy Carter’s knee and all she ever called you was a hero. It’s hard to reconcile that with the man that killed my parents. And then I read your goddamn file.”

“I read about how they tortured you. I read the instructions about how you couldn’t come out of cryo in the month of July. I read about how hard they had to beat you to get you to comply with killing them. I read about you begging them not to do this. About you begging for my parents’ lives right before you took them.”

Bucky sobs then, a choked off noise that fill the too quiet air in his cell, “That doesn’t make it _okay_. I’m a _monster_ kid. I – I killed Howard even though he was my _friend_. Even though I was supposed to protect him.”

The Stark looks at him curiously for a moment, “I think I’m going to make you a new arm. I’m thinking lightweight vibrainium. I’ll make sure it doesn’t tug. Do you want it to have built in functions like lasers or something, because I can probably do that.”

“You’re just as smart as your dad, ain’tcha?”

“Nope. I’m definitely smarter.”

“Evidently not if you’re offering weapons to the man that killed him.”

“What do you think, I should do, James? What is the correct response in this scenario?”

“I think you should probably beat the shit out of me. Possibly to death. God knows I’d deserve it.”

“You’re like Steve, you know. You think you know what justice is. That’s fine. Maybe for you, justice is me beating you to death. But that’s not what _I_ want. That’s not the justice my parents want or deserve. Do you know how mad my father would be if I attacked you for his death? He’d probably lock me out of heaven. Justice is not punishing you for a crime you tried not to commit. Justice is eradicating Hydra and killing every agent left alive.”

Bucky laughs wetly, “I can tell that Peggy had a hand in raising you.”

Tony smiles at him, “That’s a damn good compliment, Barnes. I’ll talk to Fury about getting you out.”

“Fury’s dead. I killed him.”

“Fury’s indestructible. He may have had several life-saving surgeries in the past month or so, but he is definitely still kicking. Plus, he kind of wanted you to get that shot. He’s glad you made it. He needed to fake his death in order to weed out Hydra within SHIELD. If anything, you did the fucker a favor. I’ll be in touch, James. Do you want a floor to yourself or is Steve’s guest room good enough?”

“I – what?”

“Well, like every other Avenger, you’re going to be living in the Tower. You will be joining us, right? Unless you want to retire. I think that would be appropriate all things considered.”

“Let me get this straight. I _kill_ your parents and you offer me an arm, a house, and a job?”

The Stark laughs, “When you put it that way, I sound crazy. But yeah. Someone has to watch Steve on the battlefield. God knows he’s more than willing to play the self-sacrifice card. I, for one, am getting sick of babysitting.”

“You’re the second person who has told me that Steve needs a babysitter.”

“Wilson’s a smart guy. I like him. Plus, the wings are pretty cool. Have a good night, James. And trust me, I know how interesting _The Hitchhiker’s Guide_ is, but even super soldiers need sleep.”

Bucky eats his now cold soup and lays down. He gently puts the book on the floor next to him and weeps into his pillow.

>>>

Steve is clearing out his guest room when Tony walks into his floor unannounced.

“So, Cap. I talked to your right-hand man.”

Steve stiffens, “Tony it wasn’t his fault! The files say that he – “

“Oh please. I may be an idiot sometimes, but I’m also literally a genius with basic reading comprehension skills. I _know_ it wasn’t his fault. Anyway, Fury has agreed to releasing him from the Hulk cell tomorrow morning and I thought you should know. Oh! I also started some designs for a new arm. I’m thinking black and gold. Silver will definitely bring back bad memories. What do you think?”

Steve stares at him, “I will _never_ understand you, Tony.”

“Well, that makes two of us. I like him, by the way. He has good taste in literature genres. I think he could definitely be a great _asset_ to the team once he’s healed up. Was it too soon for the asset joke?”

Steve wraps Tony in a hug, “You have no idea how much you forgiving him means to me. To him too, I’m sure.”

“There was nothing to forgive, Capsicle.”

Tony reaches into his pocket, “Wilson gave me this when I said I was swinging by. It’s from James.”

Steve takes the slip of paper and (with some difficulty) reads it over, “Well, he never did have a way with words.”

“I’m stunned you can even read it.”

“He’s left-handed. His handwriting was always shit but writing with your non-dominant hand typically causes issues.”

“Note to self, make sure Buckaroo’s new fingers can grip a pencil.”

Tony doesn’t even say goodbye when he leaves. Steve doubles his efforts in clearing out the guest room, even though he knows Bucky won’t be using it. It should be pretty easy to make it look lived in, he hopes. They don’t have the “it’s the Great Depression and Steve is always a few degrees away from dying” excuse for bedsharing anymore.

Steve hugs his pillow tightly that night and hardly sleeps while he waits for morning to come. While he waits for Bucky to come home. When _finally,_ JARVIS tells him that Bucky is getting released, he’s already been dressed and ready to go for hours.

He fidgets with his hands the entire time the elevator takes to get to the Hulk cell. He takes a deep breath as the door opens. He hurries towards the Hulk door where Sam, Tony, and, surprisingly, Natasha are waiting.

Bucky looks disheveled, but handsome. There’s a canvas bag of books over his right shoulder. His eyes light up when he sees Steve. The door opens far too slowly for Steve’s liking. The second he’s in reach, Steve is clutching him. Bucky’s arm is over his shoulder and his chin is resting against the top of Steve’s hair. He doesn’t know which one of them starts crying first. He doesn’t care. He’s _touching Bucky_.

“Well, I was going to drag Bucky down to the lab and take some measurements for his arm, but I think you two need some time to catch up,” Tony announces casually.

“Steve has been obsessing over this guy for _months_ and you were planning on attempting to separate them for _arm measurements_?!” Sam sounds scandalized.

Natasha laughs and shakes her head, “I’m Natasha, Bucky. I apologize that I haven’t been in to meet you. I’ve been tied up with some SHIELD business since just after you were brought back. It’s nice to meet you.”

Bucky smiles, “I wouldn’t have wanted to do a meet-n-greet with a famous assassin if I were in your shoes. Ain’t nothing to apologize for.”

Natasha smirks, “Well, we’re both rather famous assassins. You aren’t as intimidating as you think you are.”

Bucky laughs and Steve melts inside. He’s missed that sound more than anything in the world.

“I think I like you, Natasha. However, I’d like to get settled. And maybe eat some non-prison food.”

The three of them bid Steve and Bucky goodbye and Steve practically drags Bucky into the elevator. Neither of them says a word. They’re both too focused on keeping their hands to themselves until they’re in private.

The second Steve closes the door to his floor, he finds himself pushed up against it. He throws his arms around Bucky’s neck. Bucky’s thumb draws small circles on his hip.

“Hi,” Steve breathes.

Bucky raises his hand and tucks a lock of Steve’s hair behind his ear, “They could never make me fully forget this. Forget you. You were always the first thing that came back.”

Steve leans forward and kisses him. Bucky cups his cheek and presses Steve’s back farther against the door. Steve’s tears return with a vengeance. When he and Bucky finally pull apart for air, lips swollen and red, Bucky wipes them away.

“Don’t cry, doll. I’m here. I’m here and I’m not going anywhere ever again.”

Steve laughs and wipes at Bucky’s own tears, “Hypocrite.”

Bucky kisses him again and Steve never wants it to stop. Eventually, Bucky moves to his neck and Steve becomes putty in his hands. He keeps making breathy little noises like he did when he was small, and Bucky doesn’t even think about it when he sweeps Steve off his feet and holds him bridal style.

Steve yelps as Bucky moves them down the hallway. Steve rapidly gives him directions to the bedroom. Bucky _tosses_ him onto the bed like he still weighs ninety pounds. Bucky’s on top of him and they’re kissing again.

“I’m so glad,” Steve murmurs as Bucky sucks a hickey into his neck, “that you can pick me up again. I didn’t realize how much I missed it.”

Bucky’s head raises and he pecks Steve on the lips, “I love you so much, Stevie.”

The nickname is enough to send Steve into a fresh wave of tears. No one had called him Stevie since Bucky. Bucky kisses at his cheeks but Steve can feel Bucky’s own tears dripping onto his skin. He rolls off Steve and lays down beside him. He doesn’t even have to pull to get Steve to snuggle against his right side.

For a long time, they just lay together, crying and sniffling and clinging. Finally, Steve sits up, “Let’s take a bath.”

Bucky sits up too, “If you wanna see me naked, all you have to do is ask, sweetheart.”

Steve blushes and crawls out of the bed, “I definitely want to see you naked, but I also want to lean against your chest in a bathtub full of warm water. The best of both worlds.”

Bucky stands up and kisses the top of Steve’s hair, “I like being taller than you again.”

Steve laughs, “I missed it too. I missed you so bad.”

Steve doesn’t drop his hand as they walk to the bathroom.

>>>

Bucky isn’t pardoned (yet) and is therefore not allowed to follow Steve into battle. It makes him nervous. Everything in him is screaming that he should be protecting Steve’s six and he isn’t there. What if something happens? Bucky would have no way of knowing, and he hates it.

He can’t even use the Internet to distract himself because of whatever Stark had done. He’s read through his entire stack of books and is halfway through a particularly tasty scone recipe when his phone finally rings. He drops his stirring spoon into the bowl and practically jumps over the table to reach it.

He answers immediately, “Hello?”

“Hey, Buck.”

“ _Stevie._ ”

“We’re coming home. I think we might need you to meet us at the hanger. Can you do that? Or is it a bad day?”

“Steve, what’s going on? This is not exactly a normal request for you.”

“She, uh, she’s former Hydra. Enhanced. Her twin brother was killed in the battle. Her name’s Wanda and she’s bad, Buck. Real bad.”

“ETA.”

“If it’s too much for you, don’t worry about it. I mean, you’re still healing yourself and- “

“Steve. I’ll _always_ be healing. That’s not an excuse to ignore the needs of others. It’s been a good day, aside from worrying about your stupid ass. She needs help. I can offer it. ETA.”

“Nine hours. Maybe eight if Tony’s made any improvements to this jet.”

Bucky glances back towards his scones. He wonders if Wanda would be more receptive if he showed up with food.

“Is Wanda Sokovian?”

“Uh, yeah.”

Bucky hums, already thinking of all the tasty things reminiscent of her homeland that he can make, “’Kay. I’ll see you soon, Stevie. Till the end of the line and all that.”

He hears Steve exhale slowly against his phone, “Yeah. And all that.”

“Steve. Try to sleep. You’ll destroy yourself if you keep mulling this whole thing over. You saved more people than you lost.”

“Funny, you don’t believe me when I say the same to you.”

Bucky rolls his eyes, “We’re not arguing right now. I need to get back to my baking.”

Steve laughs, “Of course you do.”

“I’ll have you know that my therapist says cooking is wonderful for my mental health.”

“I wasn’t mocking, Buck. I love your food, you know that.”

“Sometimes I wonder how you didn’t starve to death before I came back.”

Steve swallows hard, “Yeah. Bye, Buck.”

Bucky realizes he hit a nerve and files that sentence away for a conversation at a different time, “Goodbye, Steve.”

Once his scones are safely in the oven, he googles Sokovian recipes and gets to work. He has no idea how Wanda has been enhanced but if she’s anything like him and Steve, she’ll be starving. He calls one of Tony’s errand runners and asks for extra ingredients.

When the quinjet lands nine hours and seventeen minutes later, Bucky is tucked up against a slanted wall. He’s almost invisible. He watches some scientists from the corner of his eye. They’ve certainly heard that there’s a new enhanced person on the jet.

He reaches out and grabs the arm of one of them when she gets within reach, “Fuck off.”

She stares at him for a moment, “I’m sorry?”

“Fuck off. She won’t be fit for any of your poking and prodding when she gets off that plane. I think I know a bit more about Hydra trauma than you do, and lab coats are a one-way ticket to a likely violent breakdown. So, fuck off.”

The woman gapes at him, “Mr. Barnes, we need to make sure she is stable and that her enhancements won’t cause trouble. We need to take blood samples and- “

“And all of that can wait. I wasn’t making a suggestion, ma’am. You’re going to go tell your superior that the woman is in no state to be examined. Go. _Now_.”

She goes. By the time the doors of the jet open, there are significantly less lab coats around.

Bucky recognizes the Hydra asset immediately. For one, she’s new. For two, she’s clearly terrified. For three, she’s a _child_. Christ, Steve should have mentioned that over the phone. The other Avengers mostly ignore her, aside from moving her out of the way. She attempts to disappear into the shadows.

In the chaos of the Avengers’ return, no one notices Bucky slinking closer to her. When she’s in earshot, he opens his mouth and prays that Sokovian is similar to Russian.

“ **Hello** _,”_ he says softly. He sends a mental thanks to Natasha for helping him stay sharp with the language.

She stares at him in surprise and shifts away. Her eyes flicker around the room and her hands are shaking.

“ **I’m not a threat. You’re safe here. They aren’t like Hydra.”**

She glares at him, “ **And how would you know that? So far, they haven’t exactly been welcoming. I traded one prison for another.”**

Bucky cringes a bit, **“Well, if you’d like to avoid a cell for a little while longer, you can follow me. I won’t hurt you.”**

“ **They all say that.”**

He tucks his lower lip behind his teeth for a moment, **“I know. Then they stick the needles in and it feels like they lit your blood on fire. Shit hurts.”**

She looks at the ground and shuffles her feet.

**“Do you want to follow me? I won’t let them hurt you, I promise.”**

**“And how will you protect me from _them_?”**

**“We’ll see, I guess.”**

**“Not like it can get worse, I guess. Unless you’re leading me away to shoot me. I don’t think I’d even be mad if that’s what you were doing.”**

Bucky gestures for her to follow him and leads her to the elevators. She pauses before entering and Bucky can empathize. Elevators were hard when he first got out.

**“We can take the stairs, if you’d like.”**

She shakes her head, **“Everything is fine.”**

Bucky knows she’s lying but he doesn’t blame her. He lied a lot too. Especially to himself. He’s glad that the Tower’s elevator is fast, and they’ll be on Steve’s floor in seconds. Wanda does not seem glad for that.

When they step into the living room, Bucky offers her the thing he loved most when he first moved in with Steve.

**“Would you like a bath? The water is warm and helps with the aches. I don’t have much in the way of clothing for you, but I’m sure I can find you a hoodie and some sweats.”**

She narrows her eyes at him, **“Why are you doing this?”**

Bucky smiles sadly at her, **“What’s your asset number?”**

She purses her lips, **“Why do you want to know?”**

**“If you tell me yours, I’ll tell you mine.”**

Realization dawns on her face, **“You’re former Hydra. Holy fuck.”**

He laughs, **“Sure am. I’ve been where you are now. I know what it’s like to feel like everything is falling apart and fixing itself all at once. It’s confusing and it hurts. I practically lived in that bathtub at first because they never did anything but spray me down with cold water.”**

**“1652.”**

**“1.”**

**“No that’s, that’s not funny.”**

**“I’m not joking.”**

**“There’s no way they would just let you go. You’re lying.”**

**“Well, they didn’t exactly let me go. I ran into an old friend and he dragged me away kicking and screaming. I’m grateful for it every day.”**

**“They mentioned you, sometimes. Before the experiments. They called you their greatest success.”**

**“Well, it appears I failed. I like it a lot better: failing. It’s nice. Failing has warm baths and scone recipes. And an actual _bed_.”**

**“You’re _the_ Asset, and they’re just letting you stick around?”**

**“Yes, because they blame the organization. They don’t want to hurt those that Hydra has already hurt. Take a bath, Wanda. It helps, trust me.”**

She frowns at him but agrees. Bucky fetches her one of his hoodies and a pair of sweatpants with a string to tighten them. He lets her inspect them thoroughly. When she finally slinks into the bathroom and he hears the water start, he breathes a sigh of relief. He knows that she’s going to sit in that tub until the water turns borderline freezing. He doesn’t blame her, just puts a towel in the dryer for when she’s finished.

Once the dryer beeps, he folds the towel in a plastic case to preserve the warmth. He knocks carefully on the bathroom door. He hears her flounder in the tub and the splashing of water on tile.

**“I have a towel for you. You do not have to get out now. I am going to cover my eyes, open the door wide enough to fit the towel through. Is that okay?”**

**“…okay.”**

He’s quick about it and doesn’t see so much as a single red hair. He decides to make stew for dinner. Enough for three super soldiers because he still doesn’t know how much Wanda will eat. He’s nearly finished when the bathroom door creaks open.

**“I’m making stew. If you want to check it for poison, you can. I checked everything when I first got here.”**

Bucky moves away from the stove and allows her to inspect the pot. Red tendrils slip between her fingers. She seems to deem it acceptable as she moves away and gestures for him to continue with the cooking.

**“Why so much?”**

**“Well, I’m enhanced, and I eat a ton. So does Steve. Obviously, you aren’t enhanced in the same ways, but I didn’t know how much you would need to eat. I played it safe.”**

Wanda doesn’t say anything, so Bucky doesn’t either. Silence was a powerful thing when it was willfully kept. Hydra forced him to be quiet at all times. Being able to choose silence is almost freeing.

Wanda jumps a foot when the door opens. She even gets into a fighting stance. Steve raises his hands in surrender at the doorway. Slowly, Wanda lowers her hands, keeping her eyes locked on him. He gives her a tiny wave.

“It smells incredible in here, Buck. Thank you,” He compliments.

“You’re welcome.” He ladles out the stew and passes it out. Wanda accepts it hesitantly.

Steve smiles at her. It’s his tender smile. The one he used for POWs back in the day. Bucky supposes Wanda somewhat fits that description.

“Wanda, I’m glad Bucky found you. I thought he would be able to help you better because of your uh, shared history.”

She inspects him, “He did. Thank you.”

No one tells Wanda that they’re sorry for her loss during the meal. It’s not what she wants to hear and both super soldiers know it. Steve does the dishes afterwards and Bucky takes Wanda to “his” room. He’d washed the sheets and cleaned the room up a bit when Steve had mentioned she was coming.

“ **If you need anything else tonight, Steve or I would be happy to provide. Even if all you need is a hug or a shoulder to cry on.”**

She sniffles, “Thank you, Bucky. Can I call you Bucky?”

Bucky switches back to English, “Course. Everyone does. I’m really not much of a James.”

She brings her knees to her chest and sets her chin atop them, “Okay. Is it true? Will they forgive me for what I’ve done?”

He nods, “They forgave me, and I’ve been in the business a bit longer than you have.”

She sobs and covers her mouth, “I want to fail. If this is what failing is, I never want to be a success again.”

He huffs slightly, “We’ll be the biggest failures Hydra’s ever had. I promise. Try to get some sleep, kid. If you need anything in the night, Steve and I are just a door over.”

She burrows beneath the blankets and thanks him again. He closes her door softly and joins Steve in their own bed. He wraps his arms around Bucky’s shoulders and helps him remove the arm. He likes to sleep without it just because he can.

When they’re both on the brink of sleep and so tangled together that you can’t tell them apart, Steve kisses his cheek, “Thank you, Bucky. Thank you for helping her.”

Sleepily, he kisses Steve’s forehead, “S’nothing, Stevie. Just go to sleep.”

Steve does, and he sleeps better than he has since this whole Ultron disaster started.

Tony starts calling Wanda “Duckling” because of how much she follows Bucky around. She hates the nickname but not enough to leave Bucky’s side. His presence settles her. He’s a constant reminder that things can get better, and she can be forgiven.

>>>

The Avengers semi-annual press conference happens in early July. Steve is decidedly not looking forward to it.

“All they ever do is ask about our personal lives! ‘Captain, do you have a secret girl?’ ‘Tony, is Pepper pregnant?’ ‘Sam, what makes you qualified to be an Avenger?’ They always question Sam’s capabilities, Buck! It’s racist! Reminds me of how the other units used to sneer at Gabe and Morita. And when they’re sick of trying to figure out our sex lives, they start on politics! Last time, someone asked me what I thought about abortion!”

Bucky mostly ignores Steve’s rant. He nods in the right places and makes interjections when necessary, but he knows Steve doesn’t _actually_ want him to join in on the conversation. He just needs an ear to listen to him rant and Bucky’s fine with it.

“They’re PR _nightmares_ every single time. One of us always says something we’re not supposed to, and usually it’s me! What was I supposed to tell that guy?! ‘Why yes, I agree that all Hispanics are filthy creatures undeserving of human kindness.’ What the hell? Why do they all think I’m a racist?!”

“Probably because you grew up in the 1920s, Steve.”

Bucky doesn’t look up from his book, but he knows Steve is pouting.

“And _another thing_! All the reporters seemed interested in last time was what I thought of socialism! My ma was a socialist! _I’m_ a socialist! But they all seem to think that it’s some awful America-destroying thing! We got communist magazines from Maria _all the damn time_! You were part of a worker’s union!”

Bucky hums and flips his page, “I know, Stevie.”

“Someone asked me to condemn _homelessness_! We grew up in the Depression and this motherfucker had the audacity to ask me to say that I hate poor people! This country is worse than it was when I went into the ice I _swear to god_.”

“Stevie. I think you need to calm down.”

Steve collapses onto the couch beside him, “And this will be Wanda’s first conference! They’re going to eat her alive Bucky! She’s a seventeen-year-old _kid_ and they’re going to try and blame Ultron on her! I just know it!”

“I’d like to see someone _try_ to eat Wanda alive. She’s more pig-headed than you are, and I didn’t think that was possible.”

Steve elbows him in the ribs, “Don’t be an ass.”

“Being truthful does not make me an ass.”

Steve lays down, placing his head in Bucky’s lap. Bucky lifts his book up and sets it against his cheek. Steve huffs.

“You don’t need attention constantly.”

Steve pokes him in the thigh, “Yes I do.”

Bucky rolls his eyes but obligingly runs his hand through Steve’s hair. For half an hour, they stay like that. They probably would have stayed in that position until one of them got hungry, but Steve’s phone chimed with a reminder to meet up with the team to do hair and makeup. He groans audibly.

“Come on now, Stevie. You never minded when Mama G tried out new makeup looks on you.”

“Mama G wasn’t about to hand me over to hungry reporters.”

Bucky kisses his forehead, “You’ve always been such a drama queen. Go be a little shit on live television.”

Steve grumbles but stands up and heads for the door. Bucky rolls his eyes and goes back to his book. He’s only slightly upset at the silence that overtakes the floor.

>>>

When Steve steps onto their floor after the press conference, he’s exhausted. His face is sticky from the makeup melting under the lights and he’s sweating in places he wasn’t sure one could sweat. When he opens the door, he’s greeted with the scent of something frying and _Christ_ , he’s so lucky that he gets to come home to Bucky.

“How was it, Stevie?” Bucky calls from the kitchen.

“I think I would’ve preferred to be on the USO tour again. At least then people couldn’t ask me questions.”

“I dunno. The suit you’re wearing now is much more flattering than the one you wore back then. I really don’t miss the bright red boots.”

“Laugh it up, Bucky. Laugh it up.”

“I’m going to!”

Steve ignores him and stumbles into the bathroom for a shower. There’s enough hairspray on his scalp to set a small village on fire.

Bucky’s setting the table when he comes back out. A plethora of sushi covers the counters along with some delicious smelling pot stickers. Bucky had recently figured out that rice was very filling and very easy to cook with. When one is cooking for two super soldiers and occasionally Wanda, those qualities become pretty important.

Steve comes up behind Bucky and wraps his arms around his waist. Her buries his face in-between Bucky’s shoulder blades and kisses the fabric. Bucky smacks him on the thigh, “Stevie, you know I always appreciate your hands on me, but I’m starving.”

Steve’s doing the dishes while Bucky teases him with little kisses when Tony walks in unannounced and catches Bucky with his lips on Steve’s neck. Tony’s eyes go wide, and Bucky jumps away from Steve. Steve turns around so fast that he drops a plate, and it shatters against the kitchen tile. 

“Tony!” Steve yelps, “It isn’t what it looks like! Bucky was just messing around. Teasing. That’s it, I promise!”

Tony narrows his eyes, clearly not believing him, “Uh-huh.”

_Shit_. They’d been _so_ careful. They weren’t supposed to get caught. They’d survived this long, and _this_ was what was going to finally do them in. Stark was going to kill them. Or report them to a higher up. _Captain America Given the Blue Ticket_ would make for one hell of a headline. Steve was going to be sick. Bucky didn’t look much better.

“Tony, _please_ don’t tell anyone about this. Think of the PR disaster! How would it look for SHIELD to blue ticket Captain America himself? Pepper would have some much avoidable work and you don’t want that for her, do you?” Bucky pleads.

Tony wrinkles his nose, “FRIDAY, what’s a blue ticket?”

FRIDAY’s voice sounds as chipper as always, “In this context, I believe James is referring to blue discharges. Blue discharges were issued from 1916 until 1947. Blue discharges were predominantly given to homosexuals and African American citizens. Blue discharges were not considered dishonorable, but receiving one prevented veteran aid and caused social difficulties for veterans.”

Steve’s head spins for a minute, “They don’t do blue tickets anymore?”

Tony opens and closes his mouth a few times, “…Did no one tell you two about the progress in LGBTQ+ rights?”

“The hell is LGPCwhatever?” Bucky asks.

Tony snickers, “LGBTQ. Lesbian, gay, bisexual, transgender, and queer.”

“Queer? Like fairies and whatnot?” Steve asks hesitantly.

“We don’t call people fairies anymore. It’s rude.”

Steve frowns, “I didn’t mind it.”

“People called you a fairy?”

“I uh, I _was_ a fairy, Tony.”

“Do you guys even know about _Stonewall_?”

Bucky and Steve trade glances. They do not, in fact, know about Stonewall. Steve shakes his head at the same time Bucky says, “Are we supposed to?”

“So, you two are together right? Like you’re dating or whatever you wanna call it?”

Steve nods, “Since the 30s.”

“Damn. No wonder you were so desperate to find him. Anyway, so basically, in June of 1969, a bunch of cops raided a gay bar called Stonewall in New York City. The mafia owned it or whatever and they basically bribed the cops to leave their bar alone. Eventually that didn’t work, and the cops broke down the door and started arresting anyone they suspected of being gay.”

“Only this time, the patrons got pissed enough to do something about it. While a black lesbian was being arrested, she begged onlookers to do something and what do you know? Suddenly cops are getting bottles thrown at their heads. Someone ended up lighting Stonewall on fire, but the firefighters put it out. For five days, thousands of gay people rioted in the streets near Stonewall. The next year, thousands of people marched the streets near Stonewall shouting that ‘Gay is Proud.’ Five years later, the first lesbian was elected to Congress.”

Steve stares, “What happened to them?”

Tony shrugs, “I don’t really know. There was a hell of a lot of people involved.”

“So, what did it accomplish?” Bucky asks bitterly, “Other than outing and probably killing thousands, of course.”

“As of one month ago, same-sex couples can get married in all fifty states.”

Steve inhales sharply, “What?”

Tony smiles sadly at them, “After seventy years, you two can get married.”

Bucky wraps his arms around Steve, “Wanna get married, Punk?”

Steve turns in Bucky’s grasp, broken glass crunching beneath his boots, “ _Yes_.”

Three days and one visit to the courthouse later, Steve calls Bucky his husband for the first time. They both cry. And then they consummate their marriage like any good couple ought too.

>>>

Steve comes out on national television out of pure spite. Bucky is neither surprised nor concerned by this. It was bound to happen eventually. After all, his Stevie is a little shit and if coming out makes some old conservative piss himself, he’d do it.

Steve’s upset about the one-on-one interview at first. He hates talking to press and Pepper _knows_ that. Yet she’d still booked him for _Fox fucking News_. He thinks it’s probably revenge for the fact that he’d almost given her a heart attack at the last press conference when he told a particularly rude reporter that he would rather crash a plane than answer her questions. He did not release the apology she asked him to, and now he’s paying for it.

He sighs deeply as he’s led out to a frankly hideous green couch. The host of the show sits across from him, hands folded politely and prim smile on his lips. Steve wants to punch him. Instead, he shakes his hand and smiles back.

“Hello, Captain Rogers! It’s such a pleasure to have you on our show. I know that you’ve been kept on a pretty tight leash when it comes to revealing your personal opinions to the public, but tonight, I want you to lay it all out for us. To start, how do you feel about the presidential candidates for 2016?”

Steve grits his teeth. He’s supposed to ignore questions like these. He’s supposed to steer the conversation in another direction. He doesn’t want to, tonight.

“They’re both awful and in no way fit to lead our country.”

The host’s eyes widen in surprise, “Wow, so neither the Republican nor Democratic candidate will be getting your endorsement?”

“I think I would rather jump off Avenger’s Tower,” He says dryly.

The host laughs and flips his notecards, “Next question: how do you feel about the immigration problem our country is currently facing.”

Steve rolls his eyes, “I wouldn’t exactly call it a problem. I mean, I wasn’t born in America. My ma immigrated us from Ireland when I was eight months old.”

The host stutters for a second, face flushing. Steve squashes his smile. He knows he’s having too much fun with this.

“Well! Moving on! How do you feel about the radical left disrespecting the sanctity of marriage?”

Steve sits up a little straighter, “What do you mean by that?”

“Well, I’m sure you’re aware that the Supreme Court recently made it legal to marry someone of the same-sex. As a devout Catholic, you’re surely aware of what the Bible says about this matter. So, what do you think?”

Steve actually does think on his answer for a moment, “Well, I’m not really Catholic anymore. I’m not really anything in the way of religion. I don’t even celebrate Christmas anymore. My spouse is Jewish, so we celebrate Hannukah around that time of year. As for disrespecting marriage, I don’t think marrying someone you love disrespects marriage. I think that’s sort of the point, actually, but maybe I’m just old fashioned.”

“You’re Jewish?”

“No. I probably would call myself agnostic. I wasn’t particularly attached to any particular holidays for religious reasons so when me and my partner started dating, I just sort of shifted to celebrating Jewish holidays with _him_.”

The host stares at Steve for a moment, “I’m sorry, I think I misheard you, Captain Rogers.”

“Nah. You didn’t. My _husband_ and I celebrate _Jewish_ holidays and I’m _agnostic_. So, I’m afraid I don’t understand how marrying my boyfriend of nearly seventy years is disrespecting the sanctity of marriage.”

The host splutters and his ugly potato face turns a shade of red.

“While I’ve had a great time listening to you insult my marriage and my mother’s decision to immigrate for the sake of her child, I think I’m going to go home. My _husband_ is probably watching this interview right now and laughing his ass off and I would like to hear his opinions on your shit show. Have a good night.”

Bucky had indeed been laughing his ass off and is still giggling slightly when Steve walks through the door about an hour later. Steve hugs him and lifts him off the floor. Their kitten, Alpine, hisses as Bucky is forced to stop petting him.

“I baked you some honey cake.”

“Christ, I love you.”

“Thought you were agnostic not Catholic.”

He sets Bucky down and flicks his nose, “Ass.”

“You’re the one with the cute ass in this relationship babe.”

As if to prove his point, Bucky smacks his butt when Steve slips past him into the kitchen. The honey cake is, like always, delicious. Alpine seems to think so too as he keeps trying to steal pieces of it off the table.

Later that evening, Steve takes a picture of Bucky cradling the cat like a baby. His long hair is dangling in front of his eyes and Alpine is in the middle of trying to eat some of the strands. His black arm shines in the lighting and a soft smile adorns his lips. Steve makes it his first ever Tweet.

Within an hour, #SteveBarnes is trending.

Bucky makes his own first Tweet later that night. It’s a selfie of him and Steve cuddling in their bed, Alpine curled between them. Bucky captions it with a heart emoji and the words: My life has turned out better than I ever dared to hope.

He turns off his phone afterwards and lays his head on Steve’s chest. He wraps his arm around Steve’s waist and the pair fall asleep tangled together, just like they did so many years ago in a too short bed.


End file.
